Love and Glory: The Coltrane Saga, Book 3 (25 page)

“No shooting.” Travis slipped both arms around her and smiled. “You see, sweetheart, I’m looking for my sister. She ran away from home a while back. My folks are all upset, and they sent me to look for her. I thought she might head out here to find work. You’d know her if you saw her, because she’s a real pretty thing. Not as pretty as you, of course,” he winked and grinned, “but still pretty. She’s tall, and she’s got golden-red hair and her eyes are an unusual color, sort of purple.”

She knew whom he was talking about. The smile faded, and she stiffened. “Yeah, I remember her,” she said quickly, too quickly, he thought. “She ain’t around no more, and I’m glad. Menfolks drooled over her, they did. But she’s gone now. It’s just as well.”

Travis struggled to keep himself calm. “Did she work here?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head. “Naw, Luke wouldn’t let her work. He just wanted to parade her around so’s the guys would see her and think how pretty she was, and how he was somethin’ special to have a filly like her around. It was plain she hated him, though. For a while, anyhow.”

Travis felt his heart quicken. Without realizing it, he held her tighter as he ground out the words, “What do you mean, ‘for a while’? What happened? Did he take her away?”

“Hey, you’re hurting me,” she protested, squirming, and he loosened his grip. “That’s better. No, she just went away. Like I said, it was plain she hated him, but she acted funny, following him around like she was tetched or something. One day she just wasn’t around no more.”

She threw back her head and laughed, then leaned to kiss the tip of his nose. “She isn’t your sister, now is she? She was your sweetheart? Well, she’s gone. So that means you ain’t got nobody but me.”

Travis stared straight ahead, eyes narrowed ominously. Leaning forward, Sam asked Sally, “Where did Luke go, honey? Maybe he can tell us something.”

“Luke?” she snorted derisively. “That old drunk sonofabitch? He’s right where he always is—over there at the bar sousing liquor.”

She jerked her head to her right, and Sam and Travis jerked around to follow her gaze.

They hadn’t recognized him because his back was to them. Sitting on a stool at the end of the bar, shoulders hunched, beefy hands clamped around a mug of beer, he looked like part of the bar itself. His clothes were rumpled and soiled. When he glanced over toward the door, they saw that his face wore the lines of a man who has seen too much. Puffy eyes stared out toward the door. Someone near the doorway called out to him and he laughed, displaying yellow, chipped teeth. His chin was stubbled, and as he lifted the mug to drink, bits of foam caught, giving him the look of a mad dog.

Travis started to rise, and the girl gasped as she felt herself falling. Sam moved to pull her to her feet. “Travis,” he hissed, “hold on, now. Don’t do nothing foolish.”

But Travis Coltrane was already walking across the room, shoving people aside, kicking chairs out of his way.

People were scrambling right and left, alarmed by the maniacal expression on his face. There were angry mumblings and gasps, but no one tried to stop him.

Luke Tate heard the commotion and glanced around. Recognition was instant. He slipped from the stool, right hand going for his gun, but Travis was faster. Leaping forward, he knocked Luke off his feet, falling on top of him. The two crashed to the floor.

Sam was right there. He saw Travis’ hands go for Luke’s throat, knew that he would choke the life from him before realizing what he was doing. He had seen him enraged before but never like this. He fell on top of the thrashing bodies and grabbed Travis’ hands. “You kill him, boy, and you’ll never find out where Kitty is.”

It registered. Travis released his hold on Tate’s throat but clutched his shirt, dragging him up. “Now, you goddamn sonofabitch”—Travis slammed Luke against the bar—“you’re going to tell me what you’ve done with my wife.”

Luke Tate’s eyes bulged with terror and he held up his hands in a pleading gesture. “Don’t kill me, Coltrane. I didn’t do nothing to Kitty, I swear it.”

“Do you know where she is?” Travis banged Luke’s head on the bar as hard as he could, nearly knocking him out. Tate struggled to remain conscious. “Is she here? In Virginia City?” Travis screamed.

“Yes, yes,” Tate choked out the words. “I’ll take you to her, tell you what happened, if you promise to let me go.”

“I’ll let you go all right,” Travis said as he jerked him up and flung him toward the door. “Start walking,” he roared, stalking after him “And if you try anything, you’re a dead man.”

The three men, the bedraggled dirty one in front and the two taller grim-faced men behind him, walked through the stone-silent saloon and out the swinging doors into the night.

“I knowed you’d come one day…” Luke was saying as he turned and walked backward in front of Travis down the middle of the dark street, stumbling. “I knowed you’d come after her and blame me. I never shoulda took her, I know that. But Nancy paid me to take her off, said she was after her husband. I needed the money bad. That’s the only reason I did it. I shoulda knowed she was too delicate for this life. I knowed you’d come, but you remember what you said…if I showed you where she was, you’d let me go.”

“Just take me to her, Tate,” Travis said thickly.

“I am. I am. We need a lantern. I ain’t got one.”

“I’ll get one,” said Sam. They were passing a hotel, the lobby well lit. He darted inside and grabbed a lantern hanging from a hook just inside the wall and rushed back out, ignoring the shouts of the desk clerk.

After a few minutes of silent walking, they reached the edge of town and Tate led them off onto a dirt path which wound around cactus and sagebrush. “It ain’t much farther,” he said, beginning to get back some of his nerve. “Now, you just remember what you promised. It’s like I said. She just sort of give up. Acted like she was tetched.”

He paused to take a breath and pointed to the graveyard, wooden crosses illuminated by the half moon. “She just laid down and died,” he said raggedly.

Travis’ scream tore through the night. “You lie! She’s not dead! She can’t be!” The scream tapered to a sob.

Sam stepped up to Tate. “Tate, if you’re lying, so help me…” he said menacingly.

“I ain’t lying!” Tate shrieked. “It’s right here. Look.” He ran forward and pointed down toward a mound of dirt in front of a crudely carved wooden cross. “See? Right there.”

Sam followed, holding up the lantern, and read the scrawling words carved into the wood:
“Kitty Wright. Died September 1, 1869. Rest in Peace.
Falling to his knees with a wrenching sob, Sam moaned, “God, no. Not Kitty. Oh, God, no, no!” He dropped the lantern, covering his face with his hands.

Travis stepped forward quietly, like a sleepwalker, staring at the grave.

“Now, don’t you get mad,” Luke Tate faced him, forcing his voice to sound brave. “I never shoulda took her off. I know that. But it’s like I said. Nancy paid me to do it. She always hated Kitty. And I ain’t denyin’ I always had a yen for her. But I didn’t have
nothin’
to do with her dyin’ Ain’t no need in you hangin’ for killin’ me. It ain’t gonna bring Kitty back.”

Travis’ right hand shot out to strike him across his face, sending him sprawling across the dirt mound.

Luke held up his arms. “Now, you wait a minute, Coltrane. You promised if I showed you where she was, you’d let me go.”

“I always keep my word, Tate.” Travis kicked him backward, mashing his booted foot against his throat to hold him, helpless, on top of the grave. “I’m going to let you go. I’m going to let you go straight to hell.”

Travis began to allow a little of his fury out, then a little more, pressing harder and harder on Luke Tate’s throat with his booted foot. Tate’s agonized scream grew thinner and thinner until it became a mere squeak. His life ebbed away with every gush of air Travis pressed from his throat.

Sam Bucher gazed unflinchingly at the scene, eerie in the yellow lantern light. He recalled a similar scene from years before, when Travis had killed Nathan Collins for shooting John Wright, Kitty’s father. Sam had pulled Travis away then, but too late. Now he had no wish to stop him, could only wish that it were he taking life from the worthless bastard.

Astonished, he felt tears rolling down his cheeks. He who had never shed a tear in his life. He looked up at Travis, at the gray eyes shooting red sparks.

“Die, damn you,” Travis whispered, pressing his foot harder. “Die like the scum you are.”

Sam looked away. No, he was not going to pull his friend away. He waited, staring toward the lights of the town in the distance. Finally, the sounds of Luke Tate’s death agony faded, and Travis’ curses stopped as well.

Silence hung about them like a shroud. It was an eternity before Travis finally muttered, “He’s dead. He’s dead and Kitty’s dead. We didn’t make it in time, Sam.”

Sam nodded, still staring straight ahead. “It’s over. We can go home.”

“Home?” Travis sat down beside him, folding his arms around his knees and laughed sharply, painfully. “Where is home, Sam? My home is buried here, with Kitty.”

“You’ve got your son, yours and Kitty’s,” Sam said sharply. “You can’t go off the deep end, boy. She wouldn’t want you to.”

Travis was silent for a long time and Sam did not interfere. At last, Travis took a deep breath and lifted his face to the sky. “I always loved her. I always will. I just wish…” His voice broke and he dropped his head to his knees, shoulders heaving.

Sam stole silently away and began walking back to town. No, he had never seen Travis cry, and he never would. He was not going to hang around and watch.

The man was in his own private hell and he would have to endure it alone for the time being. Only God Himself, knew just how long that time was going to last.

Chapter Thirteen

The voice was coming from beyond a thick haze.

Travis lifted his head, squinting. He hiccuped, shoulders jerking. He could not see beyond the mist, but the voice seemed familiar. Who? He could not think.

“Travis, damn you, you’ve got to come out of this. You’re killing yourself!”

The voice was angry. Travis forced his lips to turn upward in a smile to show that he was not angry. But as he opened his eyes an image appeared, the one that drove him crazy whenever he saw it, the image that danced across his brain so often it almost drove him mad. Kitty was there, laughing with those sensuous lips, violet eyes sparkling as she danced before him with arms outstretched.

“No,” he moaned. “Devil’s tryin’ to drive me insane.” His words were ragged and he stared off into space, eyes riveted on something in the air, shaking his head wildly from side to side. His hands groped blindly outward, and he grasped the cool whiskey bottle.

“Travis, no!” The bottle was knocked away, failing to shatter upon the floor.

He tried to stand, legs wobbling. Someone was going to die. Someone had broken his bottle, and now the floating vision of Kitty would not go away. Whoever had taken his bottle was going to die.

He groped to his right side with both hands, feeling for his gun. The holster was empty.

“I put that up a long time ago, Travis.”

The voice was sad, edged with pity. Pity?

Feeling weak, Travis sank back into his chair. A hand pushed a mug under his bowed head, and the steam touched his nostrils. “Drink this,” the voice commanded from out of the fog. “You’re going to feel better. I’ve got some food ordered, and you’re going to eat. You’ve been on a drunk for weeks, Travis, and it’s time you came out of it.”

Disgust…pity…anger…all these were in that voice. Why? What had he done?

“You are going to drink the coffee.”

The mug was held to his lips and, reluctantly, he sipped. It felt good going down. In a flash, some of the queasiness left him, and he took a full swallow.

“That’s it,” the voice said warmly. “I got a whole pot ready, and you’re going to drink every drop. Then you’re going to eat.”

The mention of food made his stomach lurch and he quickly downed the coffee. When a second mug was gone, Travis lifted his eyes wearily and saw that the mist was clearing. “Sam,” he whispered gratefully. “Sam.”

“It’s me,” Sam grinned crookedly, reaching to fill the mug. “It’s about time you came out of it. You know how long you been sousing, boy? Weeks. You’re gonna kill yourself if you don’t sober up and get some food in your belly.

“Look at you,” he went on, allowing a little harshness into his voice. “Skin and bones. God knows, I can understand your grief, but life has to go on. Kitty wouldn’t want you to be like this, and you’ve got little John to think of. We got to be heading back to North Carolina as soon as you get yourself in shape.”

North Carolina seemed a world away, and the recent past began to return to Travis.

“I imagine the law’s looking for me. I’ll face that. I won’t run.”

“You don’t have to. I talked to the marshal and told him the whole story. As far as he’s concerned, a no-good scoundrel was found dead in the graveyard, and nobody knows who done it. Tate was buried on Boot Hill with the rest of the unknowns and outlaws. The marshal don’t want to hear no more about it.”

Travis was not surprised. The town was bursting and the law couldn’t keep up with everything. One more dead made little difference, especially when it was someone like Luke Tate.